Page 65 of Good and Gone

Two months later

Mark Simpson was, by all accounts, an ordinary guy. A husband and a father with no prior police record. He was a day trader who lived in a modest suburban home. He lived under the radar, and he did it well. But that was the thing. From the moment I saw the video footage on the news, I knew that there was something off about him. Something slinks in his movement and pallor, in his skin tone; there were signs of a man with something to hide. For all his outward appearances, he was a verified monster. A monster who kidnapped, raped, and tortured women, impregnated them, stole and sold their babies, often killing them afterward.

And while he was a monster, and clearly the guy everyone calledBoss, there was something curious about the whole thing for me. Something the FBI doesn't seem to be getting to the bottom of. Where are these children now and who was selling them?

And that's when I remembered the girl on Laverty Lane, the girl with the headscarf saying that sometimes the doctor had come to see them. This shouldn't have surprised Barry Coburn or the investigators;someonehad to be delivering the babies. I pressed Detective Coburn about the issue. It isn't enough for me that Mark Simpson is dead or that whoever JD was in real life is buried on Tyler's father's property. I wanted to make sure the operation was shut down, that all loose ends have been tied up. I still have skin in the game. Or I will in about six months.

This is not only about me, nor is it only about Tyler and the potential charges he's facing. There are other children at stake here, other women who will surely work with these people if they feel they have no other option. The system needs fixing. I realize there's only so much the FBI can do for me.

I am not expecting the email to land in my inbox from Rose. It does not come from the same email address, but most everything else is the same.Can we meet?

Rose's email is short:11AM, Thursday at the downtown coffee house. Downtown Books and Coffee. My treat.

I stare at the email for a good five minutes, weighing the pros and cons. How do I know Rose is legit? How do I know she isn't planning something sinister? What if she knows about JD? I'm not sure what to do. Rose is an accomplice. She knows things, and she can put me in touch with other girls— or anyone else who might get me closer to uncovering this entire operation.

Finally, I decide it's worth the risk.OK,I reply.See you then.

I'm both anxious and not anxious when Thursday rolls around. I've gone over the possible scenarios a thousand times as I watch the clock. I try to stay busy, but I can't stand it a minute longer, and so I head straight to the coffee shop after dropping the kids at school.

I order a large black coffee with no sugar and sit close to the door.

My assistant is outside, the same as last time, and still, I'm a bundle of nerves. I'm so nervous, I'm shaking. I'm so nervous I downed two cups of coffee before Rose walks in. She looks like she did before, only this time she is pushing a stroller. Her hair is down, and she's wearing a white blouse with a knee-length pencil skirt. Perfectly professional, almost corporate. She does not look like a woman who has just given birth. She does not look like the same scared girl that showed up last time.

"I'm so glad you agreed to meet me," she says.

"Did you know Mark Simpson?" I ask, getting right to the point. I know she's seen the news. The story is everywhere.

"Mark?" she says. "No, I didn't."

She situates the stroller and adjusts her chair, and then looks directly at me with an interested smile. "So, how are things with you?"

The way she says it gets me. Almost like we're old friends.

"I'm okay," I tell her. "And you?"

"Well, actually," she says, biting her lip. "That's why I asked you here." The baby stirs and she leans forward, jiggling the stroller until he quiets. "I want to know what you know about JD."

"Who's JD?"

Her eyes level with me. "I think you know."

"I don't."

She half-smiles. "You don't know it, but you probably saved my life."

"I didn't come here for accolades, Rose."

"I knew you would be the one to get away—the one to bring it all down. And look at you—"

I stare at her, my jaw hanging wide open. I can't even process what she's saying. I feel like I'm going to faint. I'd heard that traffickers often use women to target other women, but I hadn't put two and two together, not really. Not until now. "What are you saying?"

“Nothing.” Her bottom lip juts out. “Just that I knew you had it in you, that's all.”

"Hadwhatin me?"

"Enough of a fight to get out. I knew you could help the others."

"I wasn't looking to be a hero."

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